12 G
by Lcsaf
Summary: Well, it all had to end some time.....
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns any recognizable Harry Potter reference, not me.

A/N: This piece of fiction has been written since _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_was released back in 2003. Yes, it's been pounded out and revised with the release of each subsequent book after that, in a desperate attempt to stay up to date with Rowling accurate information. However, it has been written **free** of "spoiler leads" (information spoiling the surprise of _Deathly Hallows_ in any way). Therefore, I feel compelled to remind readers that **_all plot development is based on my own theorized logic, how I THINK the story may go_**. **Until ****July 21st, 2007****, I can guarantee that I will have no knowledge whatsoever on how closely MY VERSION will parallel J.K. Rowling's.** And once the book is released, I also _promise_ that my story plotline will not change.

In saying this, please do not write me later: (**a.** accusing me of following the story too closely so as to be guilty of plagiarism, (**b. **pointing out the differences of my version from the Cannon, (**c. **telling me that my theories are wrong and why—I don't care if you are right, _because I will have already figured it out upon reading the book for myself._

Paranoid? Yes, very. In 5 months this disclaimer will seem silly, foolish, even. But given how close we are to the release date, I'm gonna cover my ass.

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The night was unseasonably cool for a British June at 12 Grimmauld Place. So much so, that it bordered on being down right _chilly_. Unfortunately, unseasonably as it was, the chill was no longer considered uncommon--not since last year. And certainly not since Dumbledore had died. In fact the gloomy fog that accompanied the chill seemed to be getting thicker as the number of Dementors grew like fungi since the great wizard's death.

The inside of 12 Grimmauld, while admittedly drier, was not much better. No matter how many warming charms Molly Weasley had cast on the house, or how many fireplaces had been lit, the place still carried a perpetual draft. A popular theory held that the chill was left over residue from most of the previous inhabitants' stone cold hearts.

Remus J. Lupin pondered this as he sat in the parlor, facing one of the many fireplaces from a ratty wingback chair. The chair had been earmarked as Siruis' when he'd been alive. And with a tea tray next on the small table next to the chair and a bottle of Ogden's cheapest, Remus could almost imagine his friend's familiar presence coming down the hall. A small smirk came to him as he allowed the equally familiar anticipation of being caught in Sirius' chair to well up in him.

But Sirius would not be coming down the hall anymore. There would be no more "being caught" in the wingback, especially as Remus himself seemed to have taken it over as of late.

Actually, hardly anyone was left in the house at this point. The rest of the Order—save Molly and Mad-Eye—had already taken their leave nearly an hour ago, following the emergency meeting Minerva had called the day after Dumbledore's memorial.

It had been important that every member of the Order attended the meeting of course. After all, with the head of the Order of the Phoenix gone, the remaining members had to decide the next course of action—naming Dumbledore's replacement. And as expected, _that_ had not gone smoothly.

Mundungus had nominated himself and suggested that he take up residence at 12 Grimmauld. He was immediately shot down.

Molly had supported Moody, while both her sons had suggested McGonagall.

Minerva in turn, asked Aberforth of his opinion, given his immediate relation to Albus.

Unsurprisingly, Aberforth expressed extreme disinterest in taking his brother's post. He offered it instead as a joint position to Moody and Minerva. A very Dumbledore-like solution.

They voted on this of course, and found that nearly everyone was agreeable to this choice (Mundungus albeit grudgingly).

Once that issue had been resolved, Minerva reported that she was going to ask the Hogwarts Board of Governors to decide on the fate of the school, and that she wished for Harry to report to the next Order meeting.

The heavy footfalls of Mad-Eye broke Remus out of the memory. He wasn't surprised that the ex-Auror was still around, but had not expected the man to claim the old rocker across the fireplace.

"Molly's got a bed made up for ya on the second floor and a plate on the stove," Moody told him.

Remus looked at the tea set next to him. Really, the woman did too much. "That's very kind of her, though she shouldn't've gone through the trouble."

Moody grunted.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Mad-Eye spoke again. "So, your cover's been blown with the wolves…"

"Yes," Remus agreed.

"So, now what?"

"I'm at the Order's disposal," Remus replied. But, with his secrets of being a werewolf and working against Fenrir, respectively blown, Remus wasn't sure just where he could go or what he could do for the Order anymore. His spy work had depended on blending in with the others he was with.

Moody scoffed. "What about Nymphadora?"

"What about her?" Remus found himself saying a bit defensively.

The magical eye settled on him in a stern manner. "Even a blind man can see that she fancies you," Moody insisted gruffly.

Remus rolled his eyes. Good Lord, not Mad-Eye _too_. Merlin, wasn't it enough that Molly was always on him about it? "Alastor, you and I both know that I am too old and too poor for her," he sighed. "I don't even have a place of my own to stay in."

"She's got a flat of her own," Moody pointed out. "And there's been bigger age differences than yours. 'Least ya know she's not after yer money."

The bottle of Ogden's was becoming a very large temptation at this point….

"Why are you even _encouraging_ this?" Remus sighed in a very resigned tone.

Mad-Eye leaned forward in a conspirital manner. "She was bad enough when she pined after ya, with all that slip shoddy wandwork and daydreamin'." He waved a hand to emphasize his point and pulled himself out of the rocker. "She's even more useless when she mopes," he insisted with finality. "Good night."

"Good night, Moody." Remus watched the older wizard leave before staring back at the fireplace with a head full of new thoughts to ponder.

He woke with a start several hours later, unsure why. It took a second to realize that he was still in the wingback; apparently he'd never made it to bed. He must have dozed off—for how long, he didn't know, but he couldn't remember even being remotely tired.

Perhaps the amount of firewhiskey he'd used to lace his tea had something to do with it.

The fire had died down, leaving the room dark and a good deal cooler. With a small sigh, Remus roused himself from the chair and grabbed a poker to stir up the embers.

_"Moony."_

Remus whirled around, poker in hand.

In the faint light from the streetlamps outside, Remus could pick out a large form in front of him.

"Still jumpy," a familiar voice chided fondly.

"Sirius?"

The form of Sirius Black gained a more substance and became rather translucent. He appeared tired, but clean, just as he had before he'd died. "This takes a lot of concentration," he joked, indicating to his corporal form and dropped into his beloved wingback. "Been sitting in my seat, eh?" he accused with a grin.

Remus dropped the poker. "You can feel warmth?"

"Actually, Molly's tea party gave it away," Sirius said as he stared at the tea tray. He gave the firewhiskey bottle a particularly wistful look.

"Are you….back?" Remus asked, taking the rocker.

"No," the spirit told him as he turned his attention towards his old friend. "But, with Dumbledore dead, I had to see how things were going."

"Poorly," Remus replied. "How did you know…?"

"We met him on the other side. Me, Prongs'n'Lils…. well, Dorcus was there, too."

"Harry says Snape killed him," Remus told him.

"Yeah," Sirius agreed bitterly. "Dumbledore says he told the bastard to 'save' the Malfoy brat."

Remus blinked. "You don't mean Snape was acting on Dumbledore's _order_?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, Dumbledore's not telling us a whole lot about anything, so I dunno," Sirius admitted as he chewed on a thumbnail.

"He's still keeping secrets?" Remus asked tiredly. "What's he got left to hide? He's dead."

"Probably worried we'll go back 'n' haunt the Snivells," Sirius guessed with a shrug. "Can't say I blame him. How's Harry?"

"Well, you were right about Ginny…"

Sirius grinned in response.

"But, it seems they broke it off. He seems to think that by doing so, he's keeping her from harm."

"Sweet Circe, the boy's an idiot," the spirit sighed, hiding his face in a hand. "Surely he _can't_ be that thick!"

"Considering his father, I can't say I'm too surprised."

Sirius snorted in amusement and looked up with a lopsided grin. "You'll just have to get them back together, then. Let him know he's being daft."

"Me?!" Remus cried, looking bewildered. "Sirius, they're just teenagers, not star-crossed lovers. And, I'm not getting involved again. If you'll recall, the last time I tried to help fix a Potter's relationship, I got decked by a jealous ex!"

Sirius broke into a guilty grin. "Oh yeah…. sorry, 'bout that."

"That was your fault?!"

"Well, how else were they gonna get back together if I couldn't make him jealous? All I said was that you two looked kinda cute in a nerdy way."

Remus glared at him. "Thanks."

"You can't still be mad about that."

"I had to spend the next week dodging the 'James Potter glare of death' and several hexes! I'm not likely to forget that week if I _tried_." Especially considering the close call he'd had when James had threatened to beat him to death with a solid silver spoon ever he ever caught them 'cozying up together' again.

"Well, it worked for the best dinnit?"

Remus gave him that.

They lapsed into a silence that gave the werewolf a sense of _déjà vu_.

"It hurt, you know…" Sirius finally spoke as he stared intently into the empty fireplace. "To think my best friends thought I'd betrayed them…." He lifted his eyes to meet Remus'.

"It hurt to think you did," Remus replied. "When Harry found out that Snape reported to Voldemort about the prophecy and then pretended to feel sorry to get on Dumbledore's good side….. he's out for blood, now."

"Good!" Sirius spat, standing suddenly and pacing. "How much lower can that slimeball get? It's not like it wasn't bad enough when we found out _Wormface_ betrayed us…" He huffed and flopped back down in the wingback.

A bird chirped in the distance and both Maurders turned to the window to catch a glimpse of the predawn light.

"I have to go…" Sirius sighed as he rose again.

Remus followed suite. "Are you going to visit Harry?"

Sirius turned a dejected gaze on him. "I can't. The dead can't interfere with living Destined Ones. Not even _I_ can break that Rule." He sighed and placed a spectral hand on Remus' shoulder. "Take care of him, Moony."

Remus nodded. "You know I will."

"See ya, Moony," Sirius bade as he began fading.

"See you, Padfoot," Remus replied softly.

Sirius faded completely from view just as the first sliver of sunlight traveled across the floor.

Sighing, Remus reclaimed the wingback and took comfort in the cold spot left behind. 

* * *

The returning trip to number four Privet Drive had been filled with tension for Harry ever since he'd boarded the Hogwarts Express the day after Dumbledore's funeral.

The students had been instructed to stay in their compartments (which had led to a slightly overcrowded compartment in Harry's case) under the watchful eye of patrolling teachers. Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross had been filled with anxious parents and Aurors, the air thick with apprehension and relief.

Even things with Uncle Vernon had been slightly off.

"I guess ol' Lord Holymole hasn't killed you yet," he greeted with a nasty smile.

"Not yet," Harry monotonously agreed. "He got Professor Dumbledore instead."

Uncle Vernon fell into an uneasy silence after that.

Harry went directly to his room when they reached number four and lay on his bed in contemplation until dark.

No one had even called him down to dinner.

Not that he'd wanted to eat with the Dursleys. He didn't want to have to put up with the smirks and snide comments Uncle Vernon and (probably) Dudley would be sure to toss. No, he'd wait until they were all in bed before sneaking downstairs for some leftovers. If there was any thing left over. Dudley's hellish diet still reigned supreme in the house.

Harry glanced at the clock. The digital numbers suggested that he wouldn't have much longer to wait. In fact, he could hear Dudley waddling up the stairs now, every few steps punctuated by a cough.

Sick, then. No wonder he was going to bed early. He probably wouldn't even feel like playing videogames on his computer tonight.

If Dudley was that bad off, then Uncle Vernon wouldn't be far behind. Aunt Petunia would be shooing him to bed early as well, in an attempt to keep her husband from contracting anything. She'd follow shortly behind him, after a second scrub down of the kitchen and a sanitizing wipe down of all the downstairs doorknobs and the stair banister, _just in case_.

Uncle Vernon came up ten minutes later, grumbling to himself as he visited the loo. Moments later, the bathroom door opened and the door to the master bedroom opened and closed.

Harry's stomach gave a small gurgle and he found himself relieved when Aunt Petunia could be coming upstairs sooner than he'd anticipated. He waited for her to pass by his room and was befuddled when she appeared to have stopped in front of his door. He sat up from his bed and glanced at the crack under the door.

The shadow certainly indicated that Aunt Petunia was standing right outside. But, for what reason?

Before Harry could guess, the door opened to reveal his aunt, standing there in her housecoat.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, in which they both stared at each other, Aunt Petunia from the hallway and Harry from his bed.

Harry almost invited her in, just to break the tension, then realized that she had given him no sign that she even wanted to be welcomed in.

Therefore, it surprised him when his aunt cautiously glanced down the hallway as if to see if she was being watched, before crossing the threshold to his room with trepidation.

Harry watched the whole thing with a mixture of mild amusement and wariness as his aunt closed the door behind her.

There was another moment of awkward silence as Aunt Petunia peered around the room in the dark.

"What?" Harry finally asked, becoming agitated.

"You're leaving soon?" she asked in a sort of hopeful tone.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, slightly irritated. "There's a wedding I'm invited to in a week; I'm leaving in a few days."

Petunia's only response was to sit at the edge of Harry's bed and stare out the window, lost in thought. When she finally spoke, Harry had to lean forward to hear her.

"Your mother and I never really got along very well," she admitted quietly. "Even before we found out she was…."

"A witch," Harry inserted firmly.

Aunt Petunia closed her eyes and gave a little shudder at his response. "Lily never wanted to play with dolls or pretend house in the garden," she told him. "She wanted to climb trees with the neighbours' boys and play with science kits."

His mother had been a tomboy. A revelation to Harry.

"She wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up," Aunt Petunia continued. "She brought all sorts of ghastly strays home." She gave a humourless laugh. "Thank _God_ I was allergic and our parents never let her keep them."

So,** that** was why Dudley had never been allowed a dog. Even though he had thrown a number of tantrums, the dog had been the only thing (within reason) that Harry could remember the Dursleys had ever denied their son. It also cleared up the mystery of Aunt Petunia's rotten moods when Aunt Marge would visit.

"I don't think she ever resented me for that, though," she said thoughtfully, before scowling. "Not when she got that horrid toad instead."

For a moment, Harry could see the young girl his aunt had once been, making the same face she was now—caught somewhere between sticking her tongue out and grimacing.

When she faced him again, she sighed heavily. "There is so _much_ of Lily in you."

Harry just stared at her. Whether she realized it or not, of all the words his aunt had ever spoken to him, those were the nicest.

"Is that why you hate me then?" he found himself asking. "Because I'm like my mum? Did you hate her too?"

A look of righteous indignation crossed Aunt Petunia's face and she drew herself upright. "Lily was a fr--" she stopped at the dark look Harry was giving her. "I **hated** that my family wasn't normal, and I hated how our parents were proud of that. But, I never hated my sister." She blinked away the suspicious wetness in her eyes.

"She wrote me while we were both pregnant. We hadn't spoken since she graduated and she wanted to see me again. She sounded so happy. She hoped our children could be born in the same hospital we were."

"Did you ever go to meet her?" Harry questioned.

Aunt Petunia shook her head. "No. I never even wrote back."

"Why not?" Harry forced himself to ask.

She swallowed and looked him in the eye. The wetness had gathered again. "I just wanted a _normal_ family," she answered thickly.

Harry leaned back in disgust.

_Her own sister…._

Aunt Petunia quietly gathered herself before she spoke again. "I heard from her one more time, that last September and she told me what she was going to do." She scoffed. "She told _me_ to stay safe, as if _I_ was the one hanging around those--" she stopped herself once again and gazed up at Harry, then pulled a square parchment envelope out of her pocket and laid it on the bed, next to her.

She rose before Harry could even reach for it. "Be sure to pack everything you want to keep," she ordered in her normal voice as she crossed the room. "I'm burning the remains." She left then, closing the door behind her.

Harry waited until he heard her open and close the door to the master bedroom before he reached for the envelope.

It was addressed to his aunt in a feminine handwriting and had already been opened once. A piece of very thick cardstock slid out easily.

'**_James and Lily Potter are pleased to announce the birth of their son!_**' the top read. Below was a coloured moving photo of his parents holding him up and waving with huge smiles. Under the picture was the caption '**_Harry James Potter--_****_July 31, 1980_**'.

And, at the very bottom was the same feminine handwriting that was on the envelope.

'_Congratulations to you as well!__ Here's to two healthy boys! Love always, Lily._'

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	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** J.K. Rowling owns any recognizable Harry Potter reference, not me. Also, I do not own Lassie, Timmy or the well.

**A/N**: Ugh! I tried so hard to post, but life got in the way. And so, Cannon beat me. I wouldn't quite say that this fic is now an AU, because the Harry Potter characters in any other universe may not have made all same choices up until now. So, I hope that perhaps this quote might sum things up:

_"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— _

_I took the one less traveled by, _

_And that has made all the difference."_

_-"The Road Not Taken"_ Robert Frost

* * *

The ramshackle house stood away from the other houses in the village; closer to the forest behind it. It had been a grander home at one time, with wide rooms and a large cellar: boasting points for any house in the area. But the years had not been kind after the owners disappeared several years ago and the dilapidated building was now regarded as an eyesore more than anything. 

Several of the neighbours had petitioned to have the house knocked down a few decades ago. But the few that actually tried to had either ended up cursed or missing. It didn't take the residents of the village long to realize that the house was protected by Dark Magic and that it was prudent to leave the house be if one did not have a death wish.

Recently, the house seemed to have gained new occupants, however. No one in the village had seen a soul leave or enter the property, but it was said that lights could be seen coming from the windows downstairs on some nights.

It was on one of these nights that a rather large snake slithered along the floor in search of rats or spiders to eat as its master sat in a high back chair, observing his followers.

Lord Voldemort steepled his fingers to his lipless mouth, his red slitted eyes narrowed in displeasure. His wand lay in his lap.

On the floor before him was Draco Malfoy on all fours; panting heavily from the _Crucio_ he had just suffered. His normally perfectly styled platinum hair was badly mussed and sweat dripped off the end of his upturned nose. Nagini coiled herself around both of his wrists and waved her tongue at him before slithering off again.

"You have failed to carry out the task I asked of you," the Dark Lord said with a hissing quality to his speech. "And you have allowed further shame by letting others help you."

Severus Snape stood next to Draco, trembling from the Cruciatus Curse he had also received, but his face remained blank.

"You are quickly becoming a disappointment, like your father."

Around them, soft laughter came from the circle of Death Eaters. Lord Voldemort continued to address the boy before him.

"Perhaps the Malfoys are not as devoted to the Cause as they once were?"

"No, my Lord."

Lucius Malfoy stood next to his wife, gripping his cane for support. His long hair had lost its luster and his skin had taken on a yellowish tinge. His robes and clothes hung on him as if he had lost weight.

"The House of Malfoy has always been proud to serve the Dark Lord and has remained devoted to the Cause."

Behind him, Bellatrix scoffed.

"Indeed?" Voldemort replied softly. "Then why is it that your wife ran to your comrade _against my orders _andbegged him to keep Draco from fulfilling his task?"

Lucius turned wide eyes on his wife. "What?"

But, Narcissa had turned to glare at her sister.

"Do not look at me like that!" Bellatrix shouted, her face flushed with defiance. "I will not lie to our Lord! Unlike you, I have no secrets from him!"

"The House of Malfoy has fallen," Voldemort noted over the murmurs of the crowd. "Failing to complete tasks, plotting behind my back…. I do not take this treachery lightly."

Red eyes returned to the boy on the floor. "But, perhaps young Draco could serve some purpose yet… perhaps he could serve as a demonstration what happens to those that displease me…" Bony fingers caressed the wand.

"No!" Narcissa cried, starting forward. Lucius and Bellatrix held her back.

"My Lord…." Snape's silky tone cut in.

All eyes turned to him.

"Perhaps young Malfoy needs a refresher course in Death Eater conduct? The boy has hardly any practical experience and Lucius has been…. preoccupied as of late and hasn't been able to teach him."

"Hmmm," Voldemort replied, twirling his wand. "You speak as if you were currying my favour for Draco, when it is your own neck you should be worried about." He pointed his wand at the Potions Master. "You have already displeased me once. What do you have to say for yourself about that, Severus Snape?"

"I hope my Lord will forgive me for being hasty in seizing my opportunity for revenge. I have no excuse. Years of working under that doddering old fool…. I have no regrets in killing him."

Red eyes bored into black ones.

"Hmmmm…." Voldemort said again. "Yes, I see…. being forced to teach years worth of Mudbloods and Mudlovers… and so you turned the opportunity to your advantage. Five points to your House for exemplary use of Slytherin tactics."

The Death Eaters chuckled again.

"However, that still leaves the issue of your Unbreakable Vow. Do you deny that you submitted to one?"

"No, my Lord. As I am sure Bellatrix told you as our Bonder, she can attest to how willingly I submitted."

The Dark Lord steepled his fingers again. "Come here, Narcissa," he called.

Bellatrix released her sister and gave her a tiny push forward.

"I am most displeased with this Bond. You pledged yourself to Lord Voldemort, your body, your blood; your mind belongs to me. _Sectumsempra_."

Blood spurted from both Snape and Narcissa, who screamed.

"Mother!" Draco wheezed as he reached out a hand, but a Death Eater nearby kicked him viciously, causing him to collapse.

Shaking and bone white, Snape still managed to catch Narcissa before she dropped. They were both losing blood at an incredible rate.

"Ironic, is it not, Severus, to be punished by the curse you developed?" Voldemort nearly whispered as Snape turned to face him. "I will not be so lenient in my punishment next time," the Dark Lord warned.

"Yes…my Lord," Snape coughed.

"Go," the Dark Lord dismissed. He turned his eyes to Lucius. "Take you wife and son before they cause any more dishonour to fall on your House."

* * *

In the entirety of their six—almost seven--year friendship, Harry had never wished quite so hard for Hermione's slightly bossy instruction as he did at that exact moment. He stood in the middle of his room, taking in the mess around him. Clothing, school things, and other knick-knacks were scattered around on the floor, on the bed; even dangling off the back of his desk chair. 

Harry had spent most of the day before doing laundry—the muggle way, of course, though it appeared for naught, as all of it was now lying on the floor—and gathering his possessions. It had taken almost all of that afternoon to retrieve his things off of shelves, out of the closet and out of hiding from pages in books and out of the floorboards. Most of the items from he'd pulled from the last place were either of a magical nature, wizarding money (four knuts, three galleons and a sickle), or sweets he'd hid from the Dursleys—mainly Vernon. It wasn't necessarily that Harry had a great deal of things (though they'd been steadily amassing since he'd started at Hogwarts), but remembering almost five years' worth of hiding his treasures in the room was not an easy task. He was determined not to leave anything behind.

Packing wasn't normally quite so difficult, but tossing stuff in his trunk for Hogwarts was clearly easier than loading up everything that he'd ever owned. Even with a charmed trunk, Harry still couldn't make everything fit; he'd spent all morning trying and had reached the conclusion that Hogwarts trunks weren't spelled to fit more than a students' school supplies and robes and a few months of clothes.

There had been one point a few moments ago, when he thought he'd managed to stuff everything in the trunk and sat on the lid to force it closed. When he'd gotten off it, however, the trunk gave a shudder and suddenly spewed half its contents out with a mighty belch.

Thankfully, the Dursleys hadn't been home for _that_. They'd left earlier that morning on a shopping excursion once Dudley announced that looking at Harry any longer was just making him sicker. Uncle Vernon's last words to Harry had been the usual order he issued whenever they left Harry alone in the house: the guns were locked up and not to touch anything that wasn't his.

Seventeen couldn't come soon enough, Harry decided as he surveyed the damage in the room. Packing without magic was rubbish—he didn't see **_how_** Hermione managed it.

Unfortunately, Hermione was not available for helpful tips. She had gone to Barcelona on a short holiday with her parents and would not be home until the day after next. And Ron was "being held hostage" by Mrs. Weasley at the Burrow while wedding preparations were underway.

"What am I going to do, girl?" Harry moaned to the snowy owl perched on his desk.

Hedwig regarded him with large golden eyes before giving a single hoot and flying to the floor.

Baffled, Harry watched as the owl picked out a dirty sock from a pile of clothes and used her feet to shuffle it across the floor towards him. She stopped at his feet and swiveled her head to look up at him with the same single hoot.

She was trying to tell him something, Harry felt _sure_ of it. But, he couldn't figure out what it was.

He was reminded of the old Lassie joke Dudley had butchered after the both of them had watched the American Muggle film. _"What is it girl? Did Harry fall down the well? Well, let's just leave him there and we'll go play fetch."_

Hedwig flapped back to the clothing pile. She located another sock and shuffled it over, stopping once or twice to look up at Harry as if to make sure he was paying attention.

He was, but he still didn't get it. Was she telling him that he needed to do more laundry?

Hedwig stopped once more at his feet with an insistent hoot.

"I'm sorry girl," Harry told her as he crouched down to her level. "But, I don't understand."

Hedwig clicked her beak in annoyance and shuffled the second sock away, continuing to click her beak.

Harry was sure she was muttering bad thing about him in owl-speak. In fact, all that shuffling and "grumbling" she was doing was starting to put Harry in mind of—

_"Kreacher!"_ Harry cried, startling the owl. "Hedwig, you're a genius!" he said as she flew back to her perch and stared back with half lidded eyes. He grinned. "Sorry I'm so slow," he offered with a self-deprecating grin.

A second later, a loud crack announced the arrival of the house elf. "Nasty Master Potter, called?" Kreacher hissed as he bowed.

Harry ignored the jab. "Yes," he said. "I need all my stuff packed so that it will all fit in my trunk without anything being smashed or broken or stained or ruined in **any way**," he ordered, not feeling the least bit guilty about giving the creature the difficult task.

Kreacher favoured him with a nasty glare. "Master Potter is very thorough," he grumbled. "Kreacher will pack according to Master Potter's standards."

"I don't want you messing up my things or my trunk either," Harry warned. "No jinxes or hiding things or losing them or making them disappear or anything like that. No surprises—not like Christmas. And all of my clothes still have to fit me right."

Kreacher nearly trembled and his glare turned uglier. "Master Potter has closed all loopholes again," he spat. "Kreacher will pack perfectly."

Harry nodded. "Keep an eye on him, Hedwig," he told the owl. "Let me know if he does something bad. I'll be back in a bit."

Harry bounded down the stairs and headed for the cupboard under it.

For almost ten years, the cupboard had been all he'd known. He felt no nostalgia towards it or any other part of the house, there had been no love for him here. However, he wanted to check the cupboard one more time, just to make sure he hadn't left anything.

The padlock his uncle installed years ago had since then been taken off and door was smaller than even Harry remembered it to be. Had he really been _that _small?

The door opened easily and Harry was greeted with the sight of brooms, a mop, a bucket and scrub brush and a few cleaning agents--all things that a normal closet would hold. It was as if he had never slept there at all. Suddenly feeling angry, Harry pulled the items out and glanced around the closet.

He knew he'd pulled everything from the floorboards in here long ago. He only owned a handful of items back then. But, there were cracks in the corners that could easily hide small trinkets and Harry looked carefully at these. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed as he backed out and returned the cleaning supplies. The cupboard had been completely empty of anything that might have suggested that he once lived there, save for a few words he'd scribbled on the walls as a child when he was first learning to write.

Harry sighed as he rounded the banister to go back upstairs and glanced at the living room. The fireplace was perfectly clean and empty. Harry had cleaned it out the moment the Dursleys had left, in anticipation of leaving once he was finished packing. He had already arranged for the Dursleys' fireplace to be connected to the Floo Network for the afternoon, as well as the Weasleys' so that he could just floo to the Burrow. The small satchel of floo powder sat on the mantle.

When he came back to his room, the trunk was closed and (presumably) packed. Hedwig's perch, her owl treats and her traveling cage with fresh lining at the bottom sat on his bed. Kreacher was giving him the stink eye.

"Is that everything, then?" he asked the house elf.

"Kreacher has packed everything perfectly as Master Potter requested," the creature grumbled.

"And it's not going to spew my stuff out or try to bite my hand off when I open it again or anything like that?" Years of dealing with magical (supposedly) non-sentient things had taught him to always ask about surprises. Some may have called him paranoid, but Harry had enough to worry about without the added stress of being attacked by things that were supposed to be inanimate.

"No," Kreacher spat.

Harry waited for the house-elf to say something else derogatory towards him, but it appeared he was finished. "Alright then, after you get the trunk down to the fireplace without breaking anything, then I guess you're done."

With a crack, Kreacher and the trunk were gone.

"Well, it just you and me, Hedwig," Harry told the owl. He placed her in her cage and carried it and her perch downstairs. He reached the bottom step just as Kreacher was placing the trunk in front of the fireplace. "Thanks," he told him.

Kreacher glared once more before disappearing.

It took only a moment to get a fire started when Harry realized he had one last problem. How was he going to put out the fire once he was gone?

Harry sighed. Who knew that it would be so difficult to leave the Dursleys'? He wasn't about to call Kreacher again—he didn't trust him unsupervised.

"Dobby?" Harry called, unsure if the house elf would respond. After all, Dobby, being a free elf, was not in servitude to anyone, barring the Hogwarts kitchens. And being free, Harry was unsure the elf would be able to hear him if he wasn't at Hogwarts as well.

A moment later, however, Dobby was in the living room, clapping his hands with joy. "Harry Potter called Dobby!" he crowed with delight.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "And I need you to do me a favour," he told the elf, in an attempt to cut the fawning short.

"Dobby will help Harry Potter or die trying!" Dobby insisted proudly.

Harry forced himself not to groan. Hermione was going to get some poor house-elf in trouble with that phrase. He made a mental note to talk to her about being less enthusiastic in her liberation speeches.

"Well, it's not a big deal," Harry admitted. "I'm just going to floo over to the Weasleys' but I need you to stay behind and put out the fire once I'm gone. Then put the gate back and you can leave. Can you do that?"

"That won't be necessary, Potter," the voice of Mad-Eye Moody said.

Harry jumped. He hadn't heard the ex-Auror Apparate in. "Professor Moody," he cried. "Errr… what do you mean?"

"You're not taking the Floo. It's not safe for you." He thumped over to Harry and put out the fire with his wand.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Scrimgeour's been talking with Umbridge and they're pushing a new restriction age on using the Floo Network alone."

"Let me guess," Harry said stonily. "No underage flooing unless accompanied by an adult." At Moody's nod, Harry kicked his trunk. "That's rubbish!"

"Parents don't seem to think so," Moody explained. "With Dumbledore dead, and the Azkaban raid last week, parents want their kids a little closer to the apron strings."

Harry knew he referred to the large break-in of the Wizarding prison that had led to the escape of every Death Eater. The security had gone down with the Dementor on the loose.

"So, how am I going to get to the Weasleys'?" Harry asked.

Moody hobbled over to the fireplace and tapped a few bricks with his wand.

The bricks began rearranging to form an archway.

"It's just like Diagon Alley!" Harry exclaimed. He leaned down to inspect it and to his surprise, he could see the living room to the Burrow. "Wow!"

"Well, don't just stand there! The spell's not gonna last forever," Moody said.

Harry grabbed Hedwig's cage and nestled it in the crook of his arm so to carry her perch in his free hand. The other hand reached to pull up one of the trunk's handle and nearly jerked Harry's arm off.

Dobby rushed forward to help.

"I got it, Dobby," Harry told the creature kindly. "Thanks for your help. I guess I'll see you later."

"Dobby will see Harry Potter at Hogwarts!" the house-elf called out, waving a tiny hand.

But, Harry pretended not to hear him as he stepped through the fireplace.

* * *

The Burrow was a host of delicious aromas as Harry arrived at the Weasleys'. 

"Wotcher, Harry," a familiar voice greeted as he stepped from the fireplace.

Tonks sat at the Weasleys' kitchen table, surrounded by a mess of plates and an open cookbook. She grinned at him around a spoonful of some sort of batter. He noticed her hair was a shade of unnatural deep pink, bordering on red—one of her milder shades.

"Hi, Tonks," Harry returned as he dusted himself off. Behind him, the bricks rearranged themselves back into a solid wall. He opened Hedwig's cage and gave her a treat before letting her fly out the kitchen window to hunt. That done, he looked around, but it appeared that the two of them were the only ones downstairs. "Err…where's Mrs. Weasley?"

Before she could answer, however, Ginny came bounding down the stairs, looking very weary. "Tonks, _please_ tell mum—oh! Hi, Harry."

"Hi," he returned uncomfortably.

Tonks' eyes darted between the two of them; spoon still in her mouth, then stood up and gathered the plates to take to the sink. "I'll just go see how Molly's doing, then," she announced to no one in particular. She left rather quickly and the two teenagers were alone in the room.

Harry really wished he could've gone with her, because he felt stupid just standing there in front of Ginny with nothing to say. He hadn't prepared himself for this first awkward meeting. The seconds ticked by in a deafening silence.

Ginny blew out an exasperated breath that fluttered some of the hair near her face. "So, how've you been?" she asked with a false cheerfulness.

He'd been a mess. Everything had happened so fast since Dumbledore had died, it all blurred together. He'd already felt angry and lonely but he tried to block these feelings out while he'd been preparing to leave the Dursleys and ended up just feeling hollow.

He opened his mouth to answer with some lame lie about being 'fine' but never got the chance, because Ginny had suddenly plowed herself into his chest, holding on tightly. Harry's arms went around her instantly.

She smelled like Heaven—a mixture of Mrs. Weasley's herb garden and a fresh summer breeze.

"I missed you, you git," she whispered fiercely with a squeeze.

Harry's stomach gave a funny twinge. He'd missed her too--missed her comforting presence and her sassy voice. There'd already been nightmares about her being happy that they'd broken things off and going for Slytherin boys.

Ginny tilted her head back and gazed into his eyes. "I know you think you're being noble and "saving me" and I know you're afraid of Voldemort finding out that we're together, but, please…. just give me until after the wedding," she begged. She rested her head against his chest again, listening to his heart. "I'll give you up then, I promise."

Harry wasn't sure that he'd be able to do the same thing as letting her go, twice, but found he couldn't deny her request.

He leaned down to kiss her just as he heard the sound of feet pounding down the stairs.

A second later, Ron came into view. "Harry!" he cried. He stopped at the sight of seeing his little sister and his best mate so close together in the same room. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward and patted Harry on the back. "Alright, mate?" he asked. "Done with the Dursleys then?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

"Glad you came," Ron confided. "Mum's been driving us bonkers." He rolled his eyes.

"At least you don't have to play apprentice," Ginny retorted with a sigh. She turned to Harry. "I haven't been outdoors in three days. I've been stuck to her side doing kitchen work or robe fittings." She jerked a head at Ron. "HE only comes down for taste testing."

"Well, Merlin!" Ron cried as he flopped on the sofa. "I mean, who wants to be around her these days? If she's not working herself into a frenzy then she's crying."

"At least twice a day," Ginny noted as she took a seat next to her brother and crossed her arms. "I can't wait until Hermione gets here, maybe _she'll _save me."

Harry almost offered to, but then remembered Ron.

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley's voice carried downstairs.

Ron grinned at his sister, who scowled.

"I'm downstairs with Ron and Harry!" Ginny shouted from her seat.

"Harry?! He's here?" There was the sound of rapid footsteps down the stairs as Mrs. Weasley came down, followed by Tonks.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cried as she came into the room. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" she accused, swatting Ron before she enveloped Harry in a hug. "Oh, it's so good to see you again!" She pulled back and gave him a searching look. "How have you been?" she asked as she wiped her eyes quickly.

Harry was saved again from responding when his stomach gave a large gurgle, much to his embarrassment.

Tonks laughed.

"Haven't you eaten?" Mrs. Weasley asked sharply, sounding more like her old self. "Haven't those awful people been feeding you?"

"He's left them, Mum," Ron offered from the couch. "Just now."

Mrs. Weasley looked back at Harry to ascertain this. At his nod, he eyes misted over. "_Oh_," she breathed and she pulled him back into another bone-crushing hug. "Oh, you poor boy. You sit down, we'll have lunch right now." She released him and headed into the kitchen. "Ginny come help me get lunch on the table. Ron, you help Harry get his trunk up to the twins' room."

Ginny rolled her eyes and tossed Ron a dirty look as he nudged her.

"The trunk's heavy," Harry warned as he lifted one side.

Ron grinned. "So?" he said, brandishing his wand. "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

Harry was relieved when he realized that they would not have to lug his trunk up the stairs but could not help the twinge of jealousy he felt, watching Ron doing magic.

The floating trunk bobbed along as Ron cast it up to the second landing and settled it in Fred and George's old room. Harry followed and placed Hedwig's things on the top.

Ron smirked. "Too bad Hermione couldn't see that one. I've gotten better since I've turned seventeen."

"I bet," Harry said, trying not to let bitterness creep into his voice.

Ron clapped him on the back. "No worries, mate. Your birthday is close. Then, we can give Fred and George hell for all the time's they've bothered us about it."

Harry couldn't help but smile as the mental image that produced. In his mind, he and Ron were chasing the twins all over Britain via Apparation and tossing jinxes their way. "You're right," he said. "Come on, I'm starving."

The table was set for lunch by the time they came back down and the five of them (including Tonks) sat down to a lunch of beef and vegetable stew with potato rolls.

"So, what are you doing here, Tonks?" Harry asked politely as Mrs. Weasley ladled his portion.

"There's been an Auror on patrol here all week," Mrs. Weasley answered before Tonks did as she handed Harry his bowl. "And Tonks has been helping me with the recipes for the reception."

"Mrs. Weasley's been trying to copy my mum's French custard _en flambé_," Tonks said. "It's been in the family for years."

_"…. her mother, Andromeda was my favourite cousin…"_ Sirius' voice echoed in Harry's head.

"Are you alright, Harry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked suddenly. "You look a bit peaked."

Tonks peered at him across the table. "You do look a little pale," she noted.

"Perhaps you should lie down after lunch," Mrs. Weasley suggested.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted, spooning a large mouthful of soup down his throat. He didn't feel like lying down--then he would start thinking about…everything. He really would rather spend time with Ginny instead, even if Ron was around. "So, how are things going for the wedding?" he asked, diverting the topic.

Next to him, Ron elbowed him and Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Mrs. Weasley gave no indication that she noticed any of this and beamed at Harry. "They're going fairly well," she said. "Bill's coming over later this afternoon for a robe fitting."

"Dress robes?" Harry asked, thinking of Ron's robes for the Yule Ball.

"Wizarding Wedding robes," Mrs. Weasley corrected. "Every witch or wizard wears robes bearing their family's crest or coat of arm when they get married. It indicates the joining the Wizarding Houses."

It occurred to Harry that he had no knowledge whatsoever about Wizarding weddings, and that perhaps he should find out what they entailed…. preferably before he embarrassed himself by saying or doing something stupid.

_"Won't it be exciting to see a Wizarding wedding?" _Hermionehad said just before they had boarded thetrain._ "I wonder how different they are from Muggle ones?"_

Hermione would certainly be interested in all of that.

Mrs. Weasley's voice brought Harry's attention back to the table. "I just can't believe that Bill's going to…." She broke off giving a sniffle. "And after everything--" She blew her nose in a handkerchief.

Ginny patted her mother's arm soothingly. "Mum, why don't you take a break after lunch?" she suggested. "You could lie down for a bit and we'll take Harry outside."

"Oh, I don't know," Mrs. Weasley sniffed and frowned as she wiped her eyes.

"Go, on then, Molly," Tonks insisted, "I'll watch 'em," she offered, winking at Harry.

Mrs. Weasley turned to Ginny with a doubtful look.

Ginny nodded vigorously.

"Well, I suppose…." Mrs. Weasley began. She pointed an authoritative finger at the three teens. "But stay near the house! And mind Tonks! If she says to come back in, you better do it."

Ron rolled his eyes and Ginny was too busy trying not to cheer to listen to her mother. Harry fought back a grin watching them.

The Dementors had not been growing quite so quickly in the countryside and as a result, Ottery St. Catchpole and its surrounding area were blessed with only slightly cooler weather.

Ginny was the first outside and tipped her face up to catch the glorious sun. "I was beginning to feel like a troll, staying in the house forever," she admitted.

Harry and Ron looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before bursting in a fit of laughter.

"Definitely not a troll," Harry gasped as he calmed down.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. He went to stand up next to his sister and calculated her height. "Maybe a dwarf, they're kind of short," he said. "Or maybe a hag…."

He was on the ground in the next minute, Ginny kneeling over him with one hand grabbing his shirt and the other forming a threatening fist not far from his face. "Say it again," she threatened.

"Quidditch!" Ron cried in defense. "Two on two!"

Ginny slowly lowered her fist and looked at Harry. "That okay with you?"

"It is if Tonks is playing," he answered.

"Yeah, sure, I'll give it a go," she replied and looked at the siblings. "I used to play against your brother, Charlie, you know."

"Really?" Ginny asked, standing up. "What position did you play?"

"I was the Keeper for Hufflepuff."

They played for an hour—the Weasleys against Harry and Tonks. Harry had to admit Tonks was pretty good as she went pelting after Ginny for the Quaffle. Though, it was clear that Ginny had the advantage of not only playing her own position but also having played more recently as she streaked down their "field". Tonks wasn't far behind her, but it didn't appear as if she could catch up in time.

"Stop her, Harry!" Tonks cried even as she held her hand outstretched towards the other girl.

Ginny, however, was determined to make the goal and zoomed towards Harry and the hoop without slowing down.

Harry sat ready to block her attempt. She was only a few yards away…. one meter….

Everything happened so quickly. Ginny had appeared to feint around him and Harry had put an arm out to stop her—he hadn't anticipated on clotheslining her. The force had caused her to fall off her broom and Harry reacted without thinking; trying to grab her. He succeeded in catching Ginny and falling off his own broom.

They lay on the ground in an undignified tangle; Harry on his back with Ginny sprawled over him.

For a moment, all he could comprehend was her safety. She was unharmed because _she was on top of him_. This startling revelation forced the awareness of his own body into his consciousness and Harry began to realize that he hurt. They had only been a few metres or so off the ground, but their landing had been jarring, to say the least and the ground was not yielding. Harry groaned and Ginny scrambled to get off of him and sit up, a blush stained across her face.

They stared at each other for a moment before something else caught her attention and she looked up, just beyond Harry.

Harry forced his head to tilt back.

The Quaffle lay innocently, less than a foot from his head from where Ginny had dropped it.

Harry snorted, at the irony then grimaced. He could feel the bruising on his back.

"Harry!"

Ron and Tonks had landed and were running towards them.

"Are you two alright?" Tonks asked.

Harry struggled to sit up, he already felt sore. "I'll live," he managed. He'd had worse.

"Blimey, Harry, Oliver should've made you Keeper too!" Ron commented as hauled Harry up. "I've never seen Ginny miss a goal like that."

"Oh, I don't know," Ginny replied thoughtfully. She flicked her eyes at Harry. "I'd say it was pretty _close_…."

Harry almost gaped at her. Surely, Ginny wasn't flirting in front her brother and Tonks?

They called the game after that and trooped back inside, dosed Harry with a pain-killing potion and settled down to a few rounds of Exploding Snap.

* * *

Bill and Fleur came later that afternoon for the robe fitting. 

Harry took a good look at Bill as Ginny stood to greet them. The scars Fenrir inflicted on Bill had managed to heal a little, though they still made his tan face look like old leather—much like Mad-Eye's. Lupin had mentioned that Bill's canines might grow more like fangs after his first transformation—if he transformed. They were still unsure yet what was to happen to Bill.

This thought apparently did not bother Fleur as she prattled on in French (although slower than Harry knew she normally spoke) to Bill as Mrs. Weasley fretted about taking in an extra couple of inches from the waist of Bill's pants.

"I'm fine, Mum," Bill insisted with a fondness that accompanied his eye roll. "I'm just not eating that much starch any more, I'd rather have more…. protein."

But, it was obvious that Bill was trying to avoid mentioning the effects of his condition around his mother and the look on her face suggested that she knew it.

Mrs. Weasley sighed as she leaned back from her handiwork. "Well," she sighed. "How does that look?"

Fleur silently circled Bill twice, eyeing the outfit critically. She checked the seams and tugged at the fabric, pulling it into position better. When she was finally finished, she stopped in front of Bill and met his questioning gaze. Making a sound of delight, she threw herself into Bill's arm and gave him a large kiss. _"C'est magnifique!"_ she exclaimed, beaming at Mrs. Weasley over Bill's shoulder.

Bill turned and gave his mother a rakish grin also. "Don't forget that we'll be adding the Delacour fleur-de-lis to our coat of arms," he reminded her, making an odd nodding gesture to his back.

"Why?" Ginny demanded in a surprised tone.

Everyone turned to face her.

"Because Fleur doesn't have any brothers to carry on the Delacour name," came Tonks' chipper voice from the doorway. Her eyes flicked to Fleur's. "You must be the oldest," she noted.

"_Oui_," Fleur answered with a nod, surprise in her tone as well. "But, 'ow deed you know?"

"My mother didn't have any brothers, either," Tonks replied. "Her oldest sister carried part of their family's coat of arms into her husband's. It preserves the memory of the line."

Harry noticed that Tonks never referred to any of Andromeda's sisters by name or family relation status (not that he blamed her).

Ginny was saved from having to help her mother with supper that evening when she begged Bill to express interest in visiting with his "favourite sister" so that she could sit with the boys. Several eyebrows were raised, though, when Fleur and then Tonks offered to lend Mrs. Weasley a hand in the kitchen instead.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Ron asked no one in particular. "What if they kill each other or blow up the kitchen?"

He was ignored.

When Mr. Weasley came home an hour later, the table had been set and Mrs. Weasley called everyone to wash up.

Dinner was tender steak tips and mushrooms in a red wine sauce with sliced green beans and fluffy mashed potatoes, the potato rolls and a familiar tasting au jus sauce.

"Wow, Mum!" Ron exclaimed, upon seeing the table.

Mrs. Weasley glowed, but looked a little frazzled. "I can't take all the credit," she admitted. "Dear Tonks and Fleur helped me quite a bit."

"Thees ees no'ting," Fleur insisted. "We 'ave seemple deeners like thees all zee time at 'ome." She glanced round the table at Tonks. "And Tonks ees very familiar wit' French cooking."

Tonks' hair turned from bubblegum pink to neon orange. "Just something my mother taught me," she insisted. "And we wouldn't've been able to make this without the stew Molly made for lunch. We let the meat from the stew cook in the red wine sauce and used the broth for au jus."

The table was unusually quiet that evening as the scrape of forks against plates and moans of delight were heard around the sparse conversation.

After the dishes were cleared away (there were no leftovers to put up), Tonks stood and stretched. "Well, I need to get back on patrol. Thanks for dinner, Molly, Fleur. Goodnight, everyone." She left after that.

"We need to get going, as well," Bill told his parents.

"So soon?" said Mrs. Weasley. "At least stay for dessert."

Bill patted his stomach. "No offense, Mum, but I don't want to have to have another robe fitting. Besides, I don't think there's even room for dessert after three helpings." He grinned. "Supper was fantastic." He kissed Mrs. Weasley and gave Mr. Weasley a one armed hug. "We'll be seeing you." They left as well.

"What _is_ for dessert?" Ron asked after the door closed behind the pair.

Ginny looked disgusted. "Pig," she muttered.

"Dinner was great, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said with a yawn as he stretched.

"Thank you dear," she said. "You look tired. Perhaps you'd better go to bed a little early."

Harry agreed. He'd been thinking exactly the same thing. He nodded and yawned again. "Goodnight, everyone," he said as he climbed the stairs.

Hedwig greeted Harry as he stepped into the twins' room.

"Good hunting?" Harry asked as the owl nipped at his fingers affectionately.

He pulled his wand ready and sat to poke the trunk. Once it made no movements, Harry undid the locks and cautiously opened the lid. His clothes—including all of his Hogwarts gear--were folded very flat and piled neatly in the trunk.

Harry reached in to pull out his toothbrush and pajama pants, but to his surprise, did not feel the bottom of the trunk. Had Kreacher found a way around Harry's detailed instructions?

Perplexed, Harry watched as he stuck his arm even further in the trunk, all the way to his shoulder, but still was unable to touch the bottom. He pulled off one of his ratty trainers and tossed it in, listening for the familiar thump. The shoe did not fall far and Harry surmised that the trunk had only been charmed to be a little deeper as he could still see the trainer.

Nothing appeared to be wrong with the trunk or any of his items, so Harry did not let this new development bother him as he got ready for bed. If anything, Kreacher seemed to have answered his problem, however unintentional.

His last thought before he drifted off, was one of seeing the house elf's expression as Harry told him that he had been _very_ helpful.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's it. I have no delusions that it will be at least a week or two before anyone wants to READ Harry Potter fanfiction, (though I suspect the forums will be overloaded) let alone theorized cannon fanfiction. If that is truly the case, then I'm grateful I got at least this far. J.K. Rowling has a powerful pull with her writing and I can only hope to stand near her very long shadow. 

If, however, what could've been (or as the case may be, a different perspective on) THE END still interests you, then PLEASE—let me know. My chapters are already handwritten and merely need to be typed up to post (pre-edit's all done by hand and a red quill) and I'd be glad to share my theory with anyone who wants to hear/read it.

In any case, thank you for reading.


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